excerpts from notebooks

7-5-07
Past-spoken words begin to seem like echoes from some long-dead maniac prophet’s desert canyon shouting. How blind we dwellers of present passion. Here in the light and the rain it all becomes distant and clear as the stars are distant and clear. What is it outside this place that draws us ever deeper into our own ghosts?

7-12-07
Needlewhite petals echo in a cacophony of grass (blades sharpened in the sun). Bullthroat warble from birds of ill omen. Wayfarers, all of us who are alive.

7-18-07
Words are vessels that take us for a time away from our islands and into the commerce of open water. My own island remains unconquered and largely unexplored. Where should my priorities lie? Donne was wrong; all men are islands. How vast the sea that separates us. My kingdom for a ship.

7-23-07
The logos in every breath, every stepping back with arms spread wide to embrace, every priceless day recognized for its worth. Kids like fresh canvas, stretched tight in anticipation of the brushstrokes that will virtue or ruin them. Lord guide our hands.

7-26-07
Morning. A deep-seated peace not troubled with doubt. Christ in his utter simplicity. Abide deeply in me, that I may face all days with such resolve.

7-29-07
We carry the death of Christ within us always, that we may have a share in his life. The journey leads inevitably through darkness; this much has been made clear. But Christ has sanctified the dark along with the light, for both bear his footsteps. Lord bear me with you in this, and in all things.